


Like Telephone Poles

by Foxinator



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:54:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxinator/pseuds/Foxinator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two centuries of blond hair and things start to blur. Angel/Darla, Angel/various (canon). Post-NFA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Telephone Poles

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This started out as a fill for evil_little_dog's prompt at comment_fic; "BtVS/AtS, Buffy/Angel, Even now, a flash of blond hair and green eyes takes him back," but it kind of ended up the wrong pairing. Oops.

Eventually, as sad as it is, they all kind of start to blur together.

It's a never ending line. Row upon row, following one after another after another. Telephone poles through the story of his life.

Buffy pops her gum loudly in the movie theatre.

Kate plants her fists on her hips and stares him down.

Nina picks clay from under her fingernails at the dinner table and tries to pretend she doesn't.

"What?" says Spike, when he notices Angel staring at him from the other side of the bed.

Angel always forgets that Spike's eyes are blue.

He lives in LA. There are petite blondes (and blonds) everywhere. It's pretty much the thing to be. Sitting in the corner of Starbucks, waiting in line at the butcher's, giggling and stumbling drunkenly through the streets at three in the morning.

He saves a lot of them, but sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he ends up standing over a body and seeing the only face that really stands out. The only one he couldn't stand over because she faded into nothing, the dust of her body slipping between his fingers.

Green eyes, blond hair. High heels that click like they own the world and dresses that cling to say that they own the men as well. And sometimes one of them will look over at him, lashes fluttering, and it takes him back.

Back to the one set of green eyes, the one head of blond hair. Back to the one woman who sashayed down the alleyway and who haunts him now forever.


End file.
